


the zero-sum game

by tinygumdrops (curryramyeon)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curryramyeon/pseuds/tinygumdrops
Summary: A person of primary interest shows up in all of Na Jaemin’s funerals.





	the zero-sum game

**Author's Note:**

> Song choice: [You're Gonna Live Forever In Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08Ndzf5-HxI) by John Mayer

~O~

 

The first funeral is held in a cathedral in Asan city, the one with the heavyset spires and pearly-white marble flooring. A thick crowd spills at the entryway when it’s time for the procession, and to Jaemin’s surprise, they have Lee Jeno deliver a eulogy. He wonders why they asked Jeno to give a speech—after high school, they simply went their separate ways, never heard from each other again. From this safe distance, he can see Jeno’s red-rimmed eyes. Jaemin almost wants to approach him and apologize.

Overall, it’s quite an impressive funeral, complete with white doves and the mourning hymns—as expected of Donghyuck. Jaemin can guess how much the NIS spent for this one. He’s a little touched.

The people have almost cleared when Doyoung and Renjun come to his side.

“Glad to see you gate-crashing your own funeral,” Doyoung greets.

“Can you  _really_  call it gate-crashing when you’re fifty meters away from the scene?” Jaemin says with a laugh. “Seventeen years chasing terrorists and putting out fires, you’d think I wouldn’t know how to keep myself on the down low.”

“Not with that sorry excuse for a suit, you’re not,” Doyoung replies. He arches an eyebrow. “You sure you’ll be alright?”

Jaemin shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your mom and dad are pretty upset. All of your folks are.”

“It’s for the best.”

“And you're sure you don’t have a girlfriend hidden away somewhere? Someone else we should have notified of your untimely demise?” Renjun says.

Doyoung says, “I think the closest to that degree was Jaemin’s buddy in high school.”

“How’d you find him, anyway?” Jaemin says. “Where?”

“Some city-state in Europe. Monaco, I think. Needle in a haystack situation. But you know how Mark hyung has friends from high places. Could get you a man with a portmanteau of tricks after three calls," Renjun says. “No secret girlfriend?”

Jaemin shakes his head. "That’s all of them.”

Renjun's expression turns contemplative. "I wonder if Jisung would plan my funeral."

"Oh god, no," Jaemin says in time with Doyoung's "That's the baddest fucking idea I've ever heard."

 

 ~O~

 

The second funeral happens in another cathedral in Myeongdong. Its architecture is much older and grander-looking than the first. There's a famous symphony orchestra playing  _Let It Be_  as they parade his coffin down the aisle. They have five of Jaemin's military school barely-acquaintances deliver speeches on how great he was at dancing and smiling, on how he'll be sorely missed. Semin sunbae must have thought Jaemin wasn't content with how they went about the first funeral, and so they outright splurged this time around. As he rounds the perimeter, Jaemin tries to make an estimate on how much they’ll dock his retirement bonus.

Jaemin moves to the side gates and watches his family. His mother is crying, perhaps harder than last time, and his father has his arms wrapped firmly across her back as he looks straight ahead, unseeing. His lips tighten whenever his wife blows her nose in her white, crisp cotton handkerchief.

There’s Renjun standing by himself near a grotto of Mother Mary. With his bandaged fingers and small chunks of bloodied tissues jammed up his left nostril, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Jaemin waits until he catches Renjun’s eye and winks. Renjun snorts before joining him at the courtyard.

"What's the cause of death?" Jaemin asks him.

"According to the  _incredibly_  detailed and  _verified_  police reports, you were found rotting in the trunk of your getaway car in Busan with twelve stab wounds," Renjun says with a clinical tone. "You faked your first death to keep your family and friends safe from this infamous drug cartel, which you were tracking down for months. There's also rumors that you're involved in covert missions with the FBI and CIA, hence the orchestra."

"That's very... elaborate."

"Well. They’re very generous benefactors, Americans."

“A pain in the ass too," Jaemin says with an aggrieved sigh. "Sprinkle of truth in every lie. How'd they take it?"

"Who? Your parents?" Renjun says. After Jaemin's nod, he grimaces. "Like a champ."

Jaemin fidgets. “And the others?”

Renjun eyes him and frowns further. “You really want me to answer that?” he says.

Jaemin wants to laugh. “I’ll try guessing.”

“Right. You were hired for your superior deductive reasoning, after all,” Renjun says wryly.

 

 

~O~

 

One sunny Thursday morning, Doyoung shoots him an e-mail with a picture of a tabloid heading:  _And On The Third Day...! An Immortal Walks Among Us!_

"What the hell?" Jaemin says when he calls Doyoung up.

"Your seventies hippie pajamas is unbecoming of you, I have to say," Doyoung replies cryptically.

" _What?_ "

"Whoever pronounced you the pinnacle of modern Korean espionage should get a lobotomy, jeez. Check the fucking internet, dumbass."

Jaemin does. There's multiple pictures of him in a gray sweatshirt, neon purple pajamas and green slippers. He has two large garbage bags in his hands. The article titles that came with the photos are equally as ridiculous.

_A Nefarious Citizen? Or An Upstanding Ally? Who Is Special Agent Na Jaemin?_

_The Lies & Other Deceptions of The National Intelligence Service_

_Never heard of the NIS? Here's why!_

_You Only Live Twice: The Secrets of South Korea's Very Own Agent 007_

"My pajamas has seen better days, I suppose," Jaemin says to the receiver.

"It's an era of muckrakers." Doyoung hums in sympathy.

 

...

 

 

He makes it to national news. He then makes it to global news. His face is  _everywhere_.

"I don't give a tinker's damn what you're doing out of commission," Senmin sunbae scolds Jaemin over the phone the next day. She sounds more distraught than he's ever heard before. "But you're like a dog with a bone. Keep yourself under the muck for a week is all I ask. Agent, do you hear me?"

Jaemin hears her. "Jaemin's a fine name, too, you know."

"I can call you whatever I want," Senmin snaps. "I'm still the fucking boss of you. Jesus, this is goddamn embarrassing. In all those years working for this organization, no one has gotten a  _yard_ near eliminating you. Why bother choreographing your own murder when you can't even manage to die?"

Jaemin sighs inwardly. Why indeed.

 

~O~

 

The third funeral, his parents don't come. Only twenty-three people have arrived, and around six of them will stay from start 'til end. Donghyuck makes some off-hand comment about  _Chosun Ilbo_  not having enough space to post his obituary. Jaemin doesn't mind, not really.

Jeno gives the only eulogy during the service, an entirely different speech from the one he delivered three years ago. Jaemin wonders why Jeno even bothered to make another one from scratch.

  

~O~

 

After three hundred and eight missions and five cases, they said it'll be hard to keep still. Jaemin thinks there's some truth to that statement, though for the most part, he likes waking up at the crack of the morning and whipping up bastardized versions of cocoa and cinnamon pancakes.

But as they _also_ say, one can't keep flogging a dead horse. Jaemin wonders how many funerals he has left in his blood-streaked ledger before he gets used to the idea of dying for his sins.

  

...

   

For his fourth funeral, the NIS releases a statement: Na Jaemin is dead.  _Really_  dead. They leak pictures of him getting shot in the head and bleeding all over the velveteen carpet. They even made sure  _Chosun Ilbo_  puts up his obituary for regular circulation.

But there are no services this time. Jaemin thinks having three different tombstones bearing his name is a kindness he can no longer afford to repay.

He pays a visit to the one in the memorial near his apartment complex. When he gets there, his grave marker has weeds everywhere; Jaemin kneels and pulls them out, soiling a perfectly good pair of trousers while he's at it.

"You look pretty good for someone who's dead," someone says from behind Jaemin.

Jaemin wills himself to relax. "What can I say? They got good quality make-up in the funeral parlor I was at," he says, straightening. " _Wet N Wild_  brings out the color of my lifeless eyes."

It's Jeno. Up close, he looks more mature and handsome, in an unexpectedly debonair kind of way, but he also seems like he just came from a twelve-hour flight. Which, now that Jaemin considers it, is probably true.

"Hi," Jeno says. "You haven't aged a day."

"Can't say the same for you."

Jeno's lips twitch. "Wallowing by your grave marker doesn't really suit you."

"See, for it to be my grave marker, I have to actually be... you know.  _In_  the grave," Jaemin says. "But who am I to say? Apparently, you are the uncontested expert on funerals."

"Only your funeral."

"Why, aren't you sweet?"

Jeno doesn't laugh. His eyes squint as he crosses his arms. "Are you really immortal?"

Jaemin makes a face. "Do  _you_  think I'm immortal?" he challenges.

"So what, then? Are you some kind of spy or whatever?"

 _To hell with it_. "Yeah, some kind." Jaemin sighs heavily. "You saw the news."

"They said you're retired. Are you, really?"

"I better be." Jaemin beams. He makes sure he bares his teeth. "I'm not exactly a good guy."

"Anyone who full-timed as an intelligence operative never is," Jeno says. "You must have done some fair enough spying for you to get elaborate burial services, I dare wager."

"Job perks," Jaemin says. "I don't think retirement suits me, though, and my boss seems inclined to agree. I'm a magnet for trouble."

"Color me surprised."

Jaemin demands, "Why are you here?"

Jeno stares at him for a moment. "It's your funeral," he answers tightly.

"Why come to every single one?"

Jeno glares at him. "Because I'm not stupid." He jams his hands in his coat pockets. "And I want to know the truth."

"What more could you possibly want to know?"

"Why  _die_?"

"So I can _retire._ "

Jeno snorts. It's a pretty impressive thing, seeing him snort. Jaemin can't recall Jeno ever expressing his distaste when they were kids. Like a cat that forgot it has claws.

"I don't remember retirement being as theatrical as you claim," Jeno says blandly. "But since it's you..."

Jaemin looks down, settles with staring at the knapweeds under his boots. "Jen, it's... complicated."

"Uncomplicate it, then."

"Like I said, I'm not really a good guy." Jaemin crushes the weeds with three harsh scrapes. "Not really the kind of person we promised each other we'd turn out to be. You know?"

"You're  _alive_ ," Jeno says. "You don't think I'd want anything more than that for you? Considering everything?"

Slowly, Jaemin's shoulders slacken. He then looks up and smiles. He tries not to show his teeth. "Got good folks to adopt you?" he surmises.

"Used to be jealous of you getting a perfect matched set," Jeno says with a grin of his own, eyes shrinking. "But my foster parents are as awesome as yours, obviously. I picked some stuff up along the way. Manners and caring and... other things."

"You look great by the way. Forehead wrinkles suit you."

"And I'm glad you aren't dead at thirty-nine."

For the first time in what seems like years, Jaemin laughs, deep and loud and full of relief.

"Why did we fall out of touch again?" Jaemin wonders.

Jeno's face becomes an impenetrable mask. It's almost nostalgic to see him put up a front. "Distance, I think," Jeno answers.

Jaemin tries his very, very best not to disagree. Occam's razor, and all that cloak-and-dagger bullshit. "Still. I missed you."

Jeno doesn't respond for a long time. A cold wind blows and they both shiver.

"Missed you too," Jeno continues quietly. "I wrote letters."

"From Monaco?"

"Well, yeah. Did you get them?"

"Never got 'em. Shipped myself to military school as soon as we graduated."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

"I would have written back," Jaemin says, though he's not sure if he's being completely honest. "Really, I think..."

"It's fine, Jaemin. It really is." He sounds like he doesn't want to pursue the topic any further. Jeno's moved on, it seems like.

"Alright," Jaemin says. "We can't be friends again."  _It's dangerous,_  he doesn't say.

Jeno nods. "Okay."

"Perhaps in the afterlife... Again? Maybe?"

Jeno looks pleased. "You're as ridiculous as I remembered."

Jaemin chuckles. "Well. Thanks for remembering me," he says.

"No need to thank me," Jeno replies. "Pretty hard to forget things where you're involved."

"Still. I'm honored. I'm really..." Jaemin trails off, his cheeks warming considerably. He wants to say how grateful he is for Jeno—all the things he's done, the things he said in his burial speeches—but for once, Jaemin's all out of words. "Are you staying in Seoul permanently?"

"You kidding? This is my last voyage," Jeno says as he smiles wider. "I got all my answers. Besides, tickets from Monaco to here ain't cheap at all."

"Well, you can just come to my fifth funeral. Won't you? Can't have you breaking that impressive streak of yours."

"Go die for real and let's see what I can do."

Jaemin can't keep the ear-splitting grin from forming on his face. "I'll let you have the pleasure of organizing it."

"You know what they say about counting chickens." Jeno holds out his hand, and Jaemin takes it. His palm feels hot, and very much alive. "Keep safe, Jaemin."

"I will," Jaemin says. "I think I can assure you I'll pretty much live forever, whether you like it or not. So don't forget me." He lets go.

They part ways.

 

~O~

 

 


End file.
